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The Tale of Ebenezer Snape	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 2912 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and do not make any money from my scribblings about it.

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The Great Hall was freezing, though Severus Snape took no notice of the chill. He sat perched over a stack of parchment at a desk where the head table once was. Time and war had taken its toll on society turning Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry into little more than a rundown bank of sorts. With Gringotts vanished there was nowhere else to turn. When he had become Headmaster of the school he’d done his best to keep it afloat for as long as he could, but desperate times meant desperate measures and transforming the once glorious school into the dilapidated shambles he called a money exchange was an improvement in his opinion.

            In the great gloomy hall before him sat a dozen odd former members of the ministry of magic. When the economy had collapsed taking the ministry down with it, the castoffs were forced to seek employment elsewhere. And when Snape proved to be the only alternative, his wretched stares and ridiculous conditions were tolerated to prevent families from starving.

            The doors to the Great Hall flew open, momentarily disturbing the hard laboring men as their papers blustered about in the icy gust of wind that flushed its way straight down the aisle. The dour man did not lift his head from the parchment he was examining, his long black hair hung around his face like a curtain. “Quiet or you’ll be complaining of cold on the unemployment line.” He snapped. Severus seldom raised his voice, but his icy tones with sharp delivery were enough to spark the fire of fear into his employees.

            The quick paced jovial clacking on the flagstone made him cringe though he showed no visual acknowledgement. “Happy Christmas, Uncle!” cried an all too familiar and all too cheery voice.

            Severus continued to gaze over the piece of paper before him. It was a loan in foreclosure, naming one Rubeus Hagrid in debt up to his very giant ears. It wasn’t until Draco Malfoy slapped his palms down on the edge of the desk that Severus bothered to look up.

            “I did say Happy Christmas, Uncle.” He beamed a bright smile and placed a Christmas Wreath on top of the stack of foreclosure notices. “Surely all this can wait until after the holidays?”

            Severus narrowed his gaze at his young spry nephew. “Surely your presence can do the same?”

            “It cannot.” He smiled. “And will not.” Draco’s smile persisted as his uncle’s scowl grew deeper. “For the holidays are upon us and they will wait for no man, not even you with all your shrewd lending and foreclosures.” His smile waivered for only a moment as he glanced down at the stack of parchments, nearly double what they had been this time last year.

            Since the fall of his father and unexpected passing of his mother, Draco had become a different fellow. His riches had been squandered by his father long before he’d had the chance to inherit them, leaving the boy practically penniless, but that seemed to do little to his spirit. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite for since Draco had become stricken with poverty he seemed a more jovial sort; settling down quietly with a wife and small townhouse on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

            “Tis the season to be jolly and joyous. You should open you heart to love and festivities.” Draco smiled.

            “Are you quite finished you impertinent little twit?”

            Draco was quickly reminded of his days long since passed at Hogwarts, when he might have drawn his wand and cursed his Uncle into oblivion. But that was a different life. He was happy now. His father long dead, his new wife expecting. There was much to celebrate. Draco cleared his throat, and allowed a smile to grace his lips once more. “Come and have Christmas dinner with me and Pansy tomorrow.”

            Severus leaned back in his chair for a moment, his fingers steepled together resting against the tip of his nose. He contemplated for a moment and then brought his hands back to his paperwork. “Bah. Humbug.”

            “But, Uncle—”

            “Nephew, Christmas is a pitiful excuse for total strangers to act like idiots once a year. All this nonsense about being merry. It’s foolish. What right have you to be merry, you’re poor enough.” He spat.

            Draco was quick to his words. “What right have you to be dismal? You’re rich enough.” The tiniest smirk skated over the younger wizard’s lips for the briefest of moments, but then he smiled, trying to maintain his cool, which in the freezing room wasn’t difficult.

            “If I had my way, dear nephew, every idiot that went about with Merry Christmas on his lips would be cooked with his own Christmas goose and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”

            Draco was about to protest but their banter was interrupted by the doors to the great hall swinging open once again. Both uncle and nephew turned to see the diminutive woman making her labored way up the aisle toward Snape’s desk. She wore an old-fashioned wimple with points on either side that nearly doubled her girth.

            “Good ‘morrow, good men!” she smiled, her round cheeks rosy from the chill. “Sister Pomphrey here on behalf of the poor. Christmas ‘tis nearly upon us and we wish to return a little something to the sick and unwell.” She smiled.

            Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a fine gold galleon. “I am afraid it isn’t much, sister, but please do take it.” He pressed the coin into her hand.

            “I thank you, good sir.”

            He nodded. “Uncle, reconsider, Pansy said dinner starts at 1:00.” He bowed, tipped his hat and smiled. “I shall leave you to make your donation.” With a skip, Draco was off down the aisle. He stopped for only a moment near the desk of a man he knew all too well. “Happy Christmas, Arthur Weasley,” he said.

            The red-headed man looked up from his work. He gazed up to see if Severus Snape was watching, but thankfully his boss seemed preoccupied with the charity beggar. “Happy Christmas to you too, Draco.” Arthur buried his head back in his books as Draco skipped out the door.

            “And your donation, Mr. Snape?” Sister Pomphrey asked.

            “No,” he said.

            “I’m sorry, sir?”

            Severus leaned forward over his desk. His voice lowered and his brow furrowed. “Has Mungo’s been run out? Has Azkaban crumbled?” he whispered.

            “Why, no, sir!” she clutched her hand to her heart.

            “Thank goodness,” he muttered and resumed his seat, eyes once again trained on his stack of papers. “For a moment there you had me worried that there were no prisons or hospitals left where would send the wretches of society.”

            “Mr. Snape!” she snapped. “Have you no compassion? Have you no heart?”

            “You’ve a better chance with the tin man,” muttered a voice from somewhere in the ranks of his assistants.

            Severus shot up from his chair. He’d known the voice even from the first word. His wand, which had appeared in his hand almost as if from nowhere, was drawn and pointed at the dark-skinned wizard. “Shacklebolt.” He said. His tone was quiet.

            “Is this the scary part?” one of the little girls cried at Hermione’s feet.

            Hermione looked up from the story book for a moment. “It’s one of them. But it’s ok, you can hold my hand,” she reached her hand down the side of the rocking chair and gave the little girl’s palm a squeeze. She coughed a little and then continued to read.

            “Shacklebolt.” He said. His tone was quiet. The room was still. His wand was drawn. The wizard being addressed didn’t even have a moment to look up from his work before the curse had been blasted.

            A bright blue beam shot from Severus’ wand and Shacklebolt was flung from his stool. He sailed all the way across the room, slapping against the great hall doors with a thud before sailing clean through them. Severus turned his head to the nun still waiting up near his desk. “There is my compassion, sister.” He said. “Now, kindly escort yourself out or you shall take your leave the way my former employee did.”

            Sister Pomphrey wasted no time in scuttling back down the aisle and out the doors.

            Severus stalked back up the aisle to his desk and the rest of the work day moved along in silence without further outside interruption.

            The sun had long since set when Arthur Weasley nervously approached his boss’s desk. “S-s-sir?”

            “Spit it out, Weasley.” He sneered, never lifting his eyes from his parchment. Spidery black scrawl covered the yellowed paper and droplets of ink were scattered everywhere. “Go on.”

            “Sir,” he said inhaling a deep breath. “It’s closing time.”

            “Then be gone.”

            Arthur hesitated a moment before speaking again. “Sir, tomorrow is Christmas.”

            It was a fact that he was well aware of. Christmas. A holiday that in all his remembered existence, none was so frivolous. “And?” he asked.

            “Well, sir, with tomorrow being Christmas, the staff— myself— we were perhaps, wondering— that is to say…” Arthur swallowed hard trying to find his confidence. He’d been a Gryffindor once upon a time but somehow in the presence of Severus Snape he felt awfully akin to the cowardly lion. “Since tomorrow is Christmas might we have time off/?”

            Severus was silent for a moment. “Be here at 8:30,” he said.

            “Sir,” Arthur straightened. “A half hour hardly seems customary for Christmas day.”

            To this comment he rose. Severus lifted his head from his work and took a moment to push his hair back from his face. “And what is customary for Christmas day, Mr. Weasley?”

            “The entire day, sir.” Arthur said. He’d found his courage, though somewhere in his gut he felt that said found courage may have just cost him his job.

            “The entire day?” Severus asked, quirking an eyebrow up on his forehead.

            “Well, you see, sir— it’s not for our benefit— it would save you money. No one else will be open to do business with, not even the muggles, and if there’s no business to be done, you can spare paying us wages for work that we wouldn’t be doing.”

            Silence. Severus narrowed his eyes at the man and Arthur was prepared for the worst. Though how he would ever go home and tell Molly he’d lost his job and on Christmas Eve was beyond him. But instead of a job-ending verbal blow, Severus sighed. “’Tis a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every 25^th of December, but seeing as you are technically correct. Take the day. But be here all the earlier the next morning.”

            “Thank you, sir!” Arthur said and beat a hasty retreat from his boss’s desk.

            Severus stood from his chair, marched down the aisle, and stopped at the coat rack. He wrapped himself in his thick wool coat and donned his top hat. Without so much as a backward glance to his staff, he stormed out of the great hall and meandered out the front doors.

            Snow had settled on the Hogwarts grounds, what was left of them. There was precious little that remained of the castle’s former glory, all four towers having collapsed years ago. But he paid no mind to the crumbling establishment behind him as he made his way down through Hogsmeade.

            The house at the end of tiny street that spun off from the main road was his lonely dwelling. It was vacant save for when he slept there, and seldom did he bother with lighting the lamps. Snape didn’t give a knut for the darkness nor the darkness for him, and he liked it that way.

            He climbed the stairs and served himself a homely supper, conjured up from stale bread and aged cheese. Transfiguration could only do so much to help the meal, but he sat in a high-backed velvet armchair, facing the tiny fire in the hearth, eating alone.

            The old house held quite the chill this time of year, drafty windows and doors letting Jack Frost slip in and out as he pleased, but none so severe as to tickle the fire. Severus took notice for a moment but attributed it to his tired eyes and weary mind.

            But again the flames tickled low as if blown by an invisible breeze and this time he could swear he saw the servants bell swaying, and then he heard it jingle. No draft was moving that bell— though the bell itself had been long out of use as Severus had no servants to call upon— someone had let a wind into the house.

            He set his plate down on the floor next to the chair but as he attempted to rise from his seat a gust of ice blew the fire completely out. To say that Severus was not startled would have been a lie. But years in the service of the dark lord had schooled him well. His face was blank and neutral and his eyes remained set, gazing in the darkness as a tiny wisp of white smoke formed at the center of the hearth.

            At first it curled about itself as if someone had hired a djin comprised of smoke to perform burlesque in his fireplace. But ever so slowly it began to unfurl. Wisps of elongated mist grew into limbs; arms and legs; and the smoke grew. All at once it surged forth from the hearth taking its full shape and before him floated the shade of Lucius Malfoy.

            “Bah. Humbug,” Severus muttered. “What the hell are you doing in the fireplace?” he snapped.

            Lucius frowned. “I see in my time dearly departed not a thing has changed about you,” he spat.

            Severus snorted. “And what do you want?”

            “Is that any way to greet me? This should come as a shock to you!” the ghost of Malfoy floated toward him. “You act as if seeing shades arise from your hearth is an everyday occurrence, Severus.”

            Severus glared at him. “Really?” he scoffed. “Have you been dead so long that you have forgotten you were once a wizard? Seeing you here, as you are now is no different than when Nearly Headless Nick would burst through the pudding back at Hogwarts,” he said. “Now, do you want something or are you here for a social call? And what is that ridiculous thing you are wearing?”

            The ghost of Lucius Malfoy loomed closer still but appeared as if the shade were having difficulty in floating, as if he were weighed down by some force. “This?” he gestured, his transparent hands taking grip on a heavy metal chain.

            “No, the suit we stuffed you in when you fell,” he sneered. “Yes, that.”

            “Ah, this, my dear Severus, is the chain I forged in life. Link by link each unfortunate misgiving I passed onto another, each wicked deed committed adding another link, each link heavier and heavier—”

            Severus chuckled. “Surely you jest.”

            “Do I look like a jester to you, Severus?” Lucius’ foul temper for which he was so noted for in life was flaring up despite his transparent existence. “This is no laughing matter, Snape.” He spat. “As your closest comrade in life I know all your misgivings all your darkened deeds.”

            There was a silence between them for a moment while Severus gazed at the ghost. The heavy chain was linked together like steel, wound around the limbs of the floating figure so many times that he could no longer sight the beginning or the end of the chain.

            “I watch as your eyes scan my figure in search for the end of this blasted chain, but I tell you there is no end. It is heavier upon my soul than any crime I ever committed while I lived.”

            “Bah.” Severus said, dismissing him. “Humbug.”

            “This shall not slide off your back so easily, old friend. Your dismissive words will not be rid of me so quickly,” he said. “For I arise from the grave with purpose. The chain I bare is a child’s toy compared to the one you wear yourself.”

            Severus was unable to mask the slightest twitch of the corner of his lips. He tried to remain unperturbed, but even his will of steel was rattled.

            “You cannot hide your fear from me, Snape.” The ghost of Malfoy said with a smirk. “I know all too well how hard you are trying to reign it all in. But do that, keep on the path that you keep and you too shall spend your days shackled with the weight of a chain such as this…or heavier…”

            For a moment it crossed his mind to ask the shade to speak words of comfort to him, but even in life nothing Lucius Malfoy had ever said could have been misconstrued as comforting. Severus swallowed. “If you’ve come to warn me to change my ways lest I bare your chain, you’ve done your duty. Now be off so I can finish my dinner in piece.”

            The dissipating ghost floated forward with a great surge of effort. He was practically on top of Severus. “Head my warning, Severus Snape,” Lucius hissed. “Tonight is your chance to escape my awful fate. We were terrible men. We’ve done terrible things. And this chain is no laughing matter. You are doomed, Snape. You are doomed for all time.”

            Severus attempted to lean back in his chair, almost desperate to escape the presence of the spectre but Lucius loomed closer. “Your future is a horror story written by your crime.”

            “Must you rhyme?” Snape narrowed his eyes.

            “Be quiet and listen to me, you foul man.” The ghost of Malfoy hissed. “Your chains are forged by what you say and do. So have your fun, for when life is done, a nightmare waits for you.”

            “Enough already,” Snape said. He stood, the icy chill of the ghostly presence tingling through his body as he moved away from the chair. “You are a figment of some dark and depraved section of my imagination. Some indigestion manifesting as a vision. The only nightmare I’m having involves you rustling yourself up through my fireplace and interrupting my dinner. Now be gone, I say.”

            The clock tower in the center of Hogsmeade rang out. It was midnight. The wispy bits of white ectoplasm that formed the ghost before him suddenly began to fade.

            “You will be visited by three spirits tonight, Severus.”

            “Bah.” Severus rolled his eyes and crossed the darkened room to his liquor cabinet.

            “Mark my words, three spirits!” Lucius cried as he began to disappear.

            “Humbug.”

            “Expect the first spirit when the bell tolls one.” With his final resounding cry, the ghost of Lucius Malfoy vanished.

            “The only spirits I’ll be expecting a visit from tonight are Jim, Jack, and John.” He muttered and rifled through the cabinet for a lowball glass which he quickly filled with a splash of Johnnie Walker Black Label.

            After his nightcap, and perhaps a shot or two more, Severus had retired into his dressing gown and was settled with his nightcap fitted round his head. The bed curtains, made of heavy wool, were drawn tightly around the bed. His mind was heavy with thought, something that was indeed a rare occurrence for Severus Snape as he reclined into his pillow. His eyes fell closed and with a little tossing and turning he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

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The Tale of Ebenezer Snape